


And I'm home

by altairattorney



Series: I wish there was another way [4]
Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Purification Ending (Sekiro)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: He took us in, and said life was a gift. Everybody deserved it.
Relationships: Kuro | The Divine Heir & Sekiro | Wolf
Series: I wish there was another way [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484498
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	And I'm home

The night his father passed away, Kinshiro thought he would be ready.

It was a night in deep spring, and the moonlight threw its silky rays all over the trees of their courtyard. He had rushed to the house as soon as Masashi had sent for him; for a time that felt endless, he had been waiting.

For sure, he would be ready, he thought. But when his turn arrived to enter the room, the air was heavy with the smell of medicine and death.

The sight of his frail father, caught in the web of sickness, destroyed all the resolve he had collected.

“My son,” Kuro whispered. “It is time.”

“Hush, dear father,” Kinshiro said, inviting him to lay back. “It is alright.”

“Don't worry about me, Kinshiro. I have important things to say, and, as you know, my time is running short.”

“It will be fine, father.”

Kuro smiled, shaking his head. Then, with the weakness of a broken branch, his hand reached out for him.

“You and Masashi have been the best sons I could ever have asked for. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that, and I want you to bring my love with you.”

Kuro's gaze, veiled by the illness, still looked like bright amber in the candlelight. Kinshiro nodded with melancholy.

“All my life belonged with you and your family,” he said. “It was a good life. I had the privilege to love and care for you, to find fulfillment in the simple joys of every day. I suppose, all in all, few men could consider themselves so fortunate. But my death...”

Kuro's grip on his son's hand tightened, as his eyes welled up with fresh tears. The warrior was taken aback. As affectionate as his father had always been, he hadn't often seen him display such strong emotion.

“For this life, I owe a debt of gratitude I never had the chance to repay. For a very long time, now... my final wish has been to honor it in death.”

Kinshiro lowered his head, displaying respect and humility even in his grief.

“You need but to ask, father. Since our meeting, you have shown us nothing but care and generosity. Whatever your wish may be, my brother and I will help it see it through.”

“Thank you.”

Kuro nodded gently, to let the tears fall. When he looked up again, a somber smile graced his lips. In a floating instant, Kinshiro remembered childhood scuffles with his brother, and the same smile watching over them.

“What I am going to ask is not easy,” the old man said, a cloud passing over his eyes. “The choice to honor it is all yours. However... should you follow through, I have spent a long time preparing.”

With extreme surprise, the young man watched Kuro pull a bundle of letters from under the covers. He took them with respect, and promptly returned his grip to the wrinkled hand.

“Now, listen well. And remember that, above all, I wish I could have remained with you.”

Teary-eyed, Kinshiro knelt at his father's side, and listened to his request with increasing stupor. With every word, the truth revealed himself to him further – he was not ready, nor had he ever been.

When he walked back to the garden, to let Masashi hear it himself, Kinshiro felt as if he was sleepwalking. The moon diffused its light through the silvery air, wrapping him in the fine silk of a trance.

So it was when his brother signaled him to come, his eyes speaking in his stead. The thread of reality stayed loose around them, soft and fluent, up to the moment his father closed his eyes forever.

He watched Kuro die in a dream, like a creature of legend.

* * *

He found the lacquered black box where his father had left it.

The young man felt reluctant to open it so brazenly, especially through the open wound of his grief. Albeit now covered in dust, the object had always been taken good care of. It must have held a special place in Kuro's heart.

The most Kinshiro could remember of it were quick glances, stolen through open doors. But he always remembered his father looking at it with great fondness, if darkened by touches of melancholy.

He turned his gaze to the chiseled urn at his side, and drew a long breath. For a moment, as absurd as the idea was, he desperately wished his father could make the journey with him.

He already missed his comforting voice and words so much. He would have given anything for Kuro to guide his path, and share the boundless mysteries of a past he had never wanted to talk about in life.

Breaking free of his reverie, Kinshiro focused on the box. A splendid golden dragon graced the lid. The edges were decorated in exquisite detail, in a way he had never been able to appreciate from afar. It looked as old as it seemed to be precious.

As he opened the box, he could not stop wondering where it might have come from. Once its inside was unveiled by the light of his candle, he thought the same of the contents.

With respectful touch, Kinshiro studied the lone two objects in the box. Unlike Masashi, he wasn't a lover of antiques; but something in them captivated his attention, as if they were bearers of a spirit stronger and older than he could imagine.

He first pulled out a flask, carved out of a gourd and still full. The liquid inside smelt of herbs, and shone in a way he couldn't quite describe. The other object seemed to be a long white scarf – which, if clean and folded, surprised him most for its extreme wear.

Puzzled, yet confident in Kuro's wisdom, Kinshiro unsealed the first of the letters. They would certainly shed some light on why his father would hold on to these objects.

He sat near the candlelight, and trembled a little to see his handwriting again.

_Dear son,_

_I entrust you these prized possessions of mine for the journey to my homeland. You will need them both for safety and another purpose. _

_The waters in the gourd are medicinal. As you will see, they refill on their own and will protect you against the gravest wounds. The scarf, you will find useful to shield yourself against the cold Ashina air. _

_Above all – in case you are successful in finding her, do not forget to show both these objects to lady Emma. _

_If you were to need more help, further letters will give you all the directions and information possible. _

_Take care of yourself. You have my eternal love and thanks._

_Kuro_

Kinshiro closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The herbal scent of the gourd mixed with his memory.

His mouth filled with the afterthought of a taste – the exquisite tea his father would offer them when sick, with a bitter note of medicinal herbs.

He wept for a moment, in gratitude and grief. Then, clasping the urn and his new possessions, he walked away to embrace his brother.

* * *

It was late spring when, tired yet determined, Kinshiro arrived to a land which no longer bore the name of Ashina. According to the families he met on the way, the place had been occupied and rebuilt by the Interior Ministry decades before. Only a stubborn few refused to call it its new name, rejecting the idea a different ruling family had taken over.

But Kinshiro came from a small faraway village, and had no memory of such devastating wars. He had lived his existence quietly, a tea brewer's son and defender of a household where nothing ever happened. In fact, his training had barely been enough to keep him alive through the journey.

As he followed a guard's directions to what looked like the heart of the town, he held on to his scarf tighter. The mildest weather had turned into pungent cold in Ashina, and seeped through his bones like melting hoarfrost.

Whatever of his past he had tried to left behind, his father couldn't have forgotten that for sure, Kinshiro mused.

At long last, the house he had been told to look for appeared at the very end of a small road. He dismounted his horse and knocked, the urn oddly heavy in his left arm.

To his surprise, the woman who answered the door was graceful and young, no older than him.

“Good day to you. I am looking for lady Emma, if she still lives here,” he hastened to explain, with a small bow. She smiled kindly.

“I understand. I am doctor Kiyoko, her apprentice. Please, wait here.”

She closed the door, leaving him to contemplate his words once more. For a moment, as the soft voices and the footsteps grew closer, he felt his soul sink into loss and confusion.

He had travelled so far, driven by hope and devotion to his father. But how to explain, what to say, he did not know. Most of the reason why was still obscure to him, respectfully sealed in the letters pressing against his chest.

In secret, he hoped this lady Emma would have something more to explain to him, too.

When she arrived, Kinshiro was taken aback by her expression – at once gentle and fierce, bearing great beauty in her old age. Her eyes shone like charcoal, undimmed by the years. She bowed her head and then studied him, with a long, inquisitive gaze.

“Lady Emma. My name is Kinshiro,” he hurried to say, a bit embarrassed. “I have travelled far to meet you. I am grateful to find you in good health.”

No later than the last words had left his mouth, he saw her eyes stop dead and widen. He subconsciously followed them to his belt, where his father's flask hung at his side.

“A gourd,” she whispered, as if in a trance. “You must be... are you...?”

“I am son of Kuro, who asked me to find you. I carry half of his ashes in this urn.”

With a quiet gesture, she asked permission to touch it. Her hand drifted between the metal and the scarf, and a veil of water clouded her gaze.

“My apologies, Kinshiro,” she said. “Your father was very dear to me, too. May I ask you, what brings you here to this old woman, after all these years?” The young man lowered his head, sighing. Maybe, the answers he was seeking were finally close to his reach.

“It was my father's dying wish,” he explained, “to be buried in a place you alone remember.”

For a few moments, Emma's entire face lit up in understanding. She invited him to come in – and then, even as she turned, Kinshiro saw more tears falling down her face.

* * *

“It is so much to believe.”

Emma took a long sip of sake, with extraordinary ease.

“Even for me, and I was there.” Her tone was both playful and melancholic. Yet, something in it spoke to Kinshiro of a profound grief – maybe only put to rest, never defeated.

“Your father bore a curse most humans could not withstand without losing their sanity. He was always many years wiser than his age – I am not surprised he still thought to find me, even in death. And yet, not even he could manage it on his own. After all... he made the choice to share that burden with him.”

“I wish we could have soothed him, too... my brother and I. Even after so long. Yes... so many things make more sense to me, now.” “I don't doubt it.”

“For instance... how he took us off the streets when we were five. Masashi and I were starving orphans, and things were tough when he arrived in town. I was certain we would starve to death. But he... he always had this compassion in his eyes. He took us in, and said life was a gift. Everybody deserved it, he told us.”

“He knew what he meant,” Emma commented, her head low. “He knew that gift, and what it cost him.”

“He never squandered it,” Kinshiro said, decisive. “I always remember him happy, loving, kind to others. Although... at the start of winter, sometimes he looked like he was reminiscing, and something was amiss from his life. I saw it rarely. But I never forgot, and now I understand.”

The metal of the urn glowed warmly in the fire. Its orange flames, in their somber dance, mirrored the late afternoon.

“Are you ready to go now, Kinshiro?” Emma asked with kindness. “I am. Thank you.”

* * *

The path had faded away, eaten over the years by a growing bamboo forest. Ruins of old walls dotted their descent, and Emma, although still vigorous, often clung to his arm.

“No one has been there in a long time,” she explained. “Even I had to stop coming, once most of the old tunnels were closed. But some trace of the entrance should still be there for us.” Sure enough, behind a few sturdy bamboo canes, Kinshiro was able to open a passage. Emma recognized it as the tunnel of long ago. If accessible, it was moldy, humid and forgotten.

“The field is just across from here. Follow me, please.” Once they reached the surface, the sight ahead of them stunned Kinshiro. That the field was still so close to her description must be a miracle. And yet, there it was – rich strands of silvergrass bending to the sunset, combed by the evening breeze.

He recognized a lone lifeless tree at the center of the field, and his heart skipped a beat.

“He rests here,” she said, her voice almost lost to the wind.

Kinshiro dug a shallow hole, not far from the mossy rock which marked the shinobi's grave. There was a small gap in his chest as he covered the urn in fresh soil.

With all the respect he could muster, he prayed for the two men, and lay the sword Kusabimaru over their grave. Emma had taken it with her many years before, when she felt she would no longer have the strength to return.

“The man buried here,” she said once her own prayer was done, “gave his life so your father would have the chance to die. He gifted his breath of humanity to him, and through you, through your existence, both live on.”

Kinshiro gazed at the tomb one last time. He was overcome by the feeling that somehow – at that moment – his father had truly been laid to rest.

* * *

_He was alone._

_It was the first feeling to wash over him, just_ _beyond the sight of silvergrass. He was alone, torn by a wound, forgotten._

_He was alone, his first heartbeat said. His first breath, more aware, said he wasn't. The smell of blood, the petals, held him in a crushing embrace._

_Immense was the effort he put in turning around. But the terror, a split second after, made him feel like he was coming alive a second time. His body moved independently, powerless, to the chest that had fallen a finger away from him._

_He felt he would vomit. He was wrong. The rush of horror and regret and love pressed against his lungs as if they would explode, and flowed out on its own. He knew what had happened, he saw it, it had gone all wrong._

_He screamed until he passed out, or he awoke again. But he wasn't sleeping._

* * *

The first thing Kinshiro knew, he was drenched in a cold sweat and awake, in the dead of his last night as Emma's guest.

Whether he had been dreaming or not, he wasn't sure. It had felt like a memory which wasn't his. However, a few moments of focus – and the recollection, slow-dawning, of the field he had visited – gave him enough certainty. Something pressed him to the futon again, saddened and grieving.

Instinctively, he sought the light skin of the letters he still carried against his chest.

Once more, he wished for his father to be there. And yet, this time, the reasons for that had changed a bit.

It was not just about his presence, his touch, his words. It was a desire to share the pain of a lifetime – the grief over life, death and giving, which Kuro had so viscerally been tied to.

Kinshiro lit his candle, and unsealed the third letter in the pile with care. Eager for some contact with the comforting voice of his parent, he sat up to read.

_Dear son,_

_whether you were successful in making my wish come true or not, you and your brother's devotion and care meant more to me than I could ever say. I owe you a debt of gratitude for your gift of love, for tending to me and helping me through life, always._

_This is why, no matter how hard it is, I feel_ _I owe you a part of me that I could never share. If you completed your journey, you might already know. Regardless, it is fair that I tell you in the end. The truth will honor my sons, the life I was given, and the man I held so dear and owed everything I held dear after._

_Let me tell you my story, and how I became human._

With care, Kinshiro caressed the many sheets of the letter that came after. He closed them again, wishing to share it all with his brother.

When he returned to the darkness, something in the air outside felt soothing. He thought that the whole land, with its deep scars, must then be lulled in a profound slumber – of the kind that takes all pain and fatigue away, no matter the secrets buried in its depths.

In the small house, Kinshiro, son of Kuro, lay back to rest.

In the cold Ashina night, finally at peace, three men slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, long delayed by a sickness that has me prisoner still and I hope will pass by the end of the year. 
> 
> For those wondering about the title, Madoka Magica is my favorite anime, and without spoilers - it is the title of a song that talks about being alone in death vs. being together and hoping for the future, which is very akin to this ending and its hopeful nature. 
> 
> This is my favorite ending, and I hope I did it justice through the pain I am in.


End file.
